


Cinnamon Lips and Chocolate Kisses

by AriMarris, tellmeaboutthedream



Series: Skywalker's Sweets [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: ;), Alternate Universe - Bakery, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, In which Luke is a baker, Luke has many skills, M/M, Trans Luke Skywalker, Trans Male Character, and Han is still a smuggler, which just so happens to be the family business
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-06
Updated: 2016-04-06
Packaged: 2018-05-31 14:43:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6474475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AriMarris/pseuds/AriMarris, https://archiveofourown.org/users/tellmeaboutthedream/pseuds/tellmeaboutthedream
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Han wishes he could say that he’s listening intently to every word. He does, when he realises how good he is at lying to himself. He nods at every appropriate moment, humming in assent as Luke taps on an engine part questioningly, and makes sure their hands brush every time Luke requests a new tool.</p><p>---</p><p>In which after a chance meeting with a young baker, Han finds himself developing a sudden fondness for sweets.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cinnamon Lips and Chocolate Kisses

**Author's Note:**

> This Bakery AU was a blast to write! I enjoyed every moment of working on it - and definitely look forward to writing more in the future - with tellmeaboutthedream!!! I hope everyone enjoys reading it too!! - Sunny
> 
> It's a joy to work with SunshineStarDust!! It's been the most fun writing and worldbuilding, and 80% of that is because of *trumpet playing and flag waving* Sunny! So excited to write the rest of what we've planned and I hope ya'll love this as much as we do!! Thank you for reading, and please do leave a review if you have the time and/or inclination! - tellmeaboutthedream (Shah)

It’s the telltale sputtering of the vintage car’s engine that causes him to pull over into the nearest available parking space. Not a moment too soon, either, because barely a minute has passed before the engine lets out a cry and smoke begins to sneak out from beneath the closed hood. It’s not the first time his precious _Falcon_ has quit on him and he’s sure as hell it won’t be the last but that doesn’t make him any less prepared. It certainly doesn’t help that Chewbacca’s out of town - he’s down the only mechanic he trusts with his baby.

Pushing himself out of the car with a groan, he strides over to the distressed engine.

“What’s the matter, girl?” he murmurs, running a hand over the heated, battered hood.

Taking a deep breath, he pulls the hood up and steps back quickly, slamming a hand over his nose and mouth as the curling smoke billows out. The thick cloud a brief dark veil obscuring the _Falcon_ ’s dying engine, Han watches as it drifts, disperses, and he steps forward.

“Damn.”

From the looks of it, it’s lucky he has no deliveries lined up for the next week. The engine, besides the trickles of smoke that creep out from the machinery, looks no different to him than usual. But, judging one where the smoke was escaping from, it had to be something to do with the gasket or cylinders. He reaches into carefully examine the pieces and then attempts to adjust them. When he finally pulls away just over ten minutes later, the engine has since stopped it’s steady flow of smoke and he’s grinning triumphantly.

He double checks the oil just to be certain, smearing the stick carelessly against his already dirty jeans, before dipping it in once more. It all seems to be in order, so he drops the hood and hops back in his car.

Han jams the keys into the engine without a second thought, foot on the clutch as he cranks it to start.

Instead of starting, however, he’s greeted with the telltale sound of a backfire, like a gunshot echoing through the street. He curses loudly.

He glares at his hands gripping tightly at the steering wheel.

He curses again.

 _Falcon_ lets out a final wheeze.

“ _Fuck!”_

Han pushes himself out of the car, tempted to slam the door closed behind him, but settling with a particularly loud stomp on the ground. Making his way to the engine once again, Han roughly pushes his hair out of his eyes, frustrated. 

“You know I love you, but sometimes-”

“Sir?”

Han whirls around, scowling in annoyance. A scowl that disappears when he’s confronted with legions of toy airplanes printed liberally on every inch of a flour dusted apron, and the sleeved arms tucked into its pockets. His gaze trails up, passing lips quirked into a small, polite smile, landing on pale blue eyes framed by messy blonde hair. He swallows, struggling, unwilling to allow his irritation to dissipate. He raises an eyebrow.

“What?”

The smile falters for a moment before returning, slightly more wary.

“Car troubles?”

Han resists the urge to snort, and instead responds with a curt nod.

“I could help - I know a thing or two about cars. I’ll be off work in about an hour if you wanted to come and wait inside until then?”

Han is distracted for a moment by the earnestness in the kid’s eyes, but he blinks and sees flour smudged against the pale skin on his nose. He can’t help it this time. He snorts.

“Yeah, I think I can handle it, kid.”

The kid’s expression flickers to one of frustration before, surprisingly, turning to one of nonchalance. “Of course you can,” he says, giving a small shrug. “That’s why you just spent ten minutes messing with the gaskets and cylinders - which are completely messed up now, just so know - when you should be looking at the valves, which are probably completely out of adjustment judging by that backfire. The smoke is probably from the gears crunching in result. It’s not an uncommon problem for an old car such as that. 1977 Cadillac Deville, am I right?”

Han stares. The kid stares back.

When he doesn’t get a response, the kid turns his back to head back into the store. “We close in an hour but if you keep swearing up a storm like that, it’ll be my sister who’s out here next - and she’s got the tow truck company on speed dial. This is customer only parking, after all.”

And he disappears into the store. For a few moments, Han stares at the door swinging shut behind the kid. It’s a small, worn wooden door painted in faded blue paint, a large window set into the upper half allowing him to watch the kid disappear behind the counter and into the backroom. The entire storefront is shaded by a white and blue striped awning, and through the large windows that border the door, Han can see the front counter, an open display revealing mouthwatering breads and pastries and cakes.

So the kid works at a bakery, Han muses. That explains the apron and the flour at the very least.

For a moment, thousands of toy airplanes and flour smudged noses seem to swim in his vision. He blinks. Then, shaking his head with a scowl, Han turns back to the engine, fingers tapping on the hood. He glares down at the accusing metal under his hands, and stands for a second. Two seconds. Then-

He groans and, turning on his heel, begins to walk.

 _What are you doing?,_ something inside him questions frantically, _You know the problem, just fix it and get out!_

“Shut up,” he growls, pushing open the bakery door, a chime sounding cheerily as he steps into the welcoming warmth.

The smell is the first thing that hits him. The warm, thick scent of vanilla- the lingering sharpness of heat, the cloying sweetness of caramelizing sugar. It’s the smallest hint of chocolate and cinnamon that go to his head, and the slightest tang of apple that grounds him. His head spins, and he feels almost dizzy from the sudden onslaught, but, try as he might, he cannot prevent a smile from tugging at his lips.

If Han were any more of a poet, he might say it smelled like how he’d always imagined home to be.

He spares a moment to be grateful that he’d never shown any particular affinity for words and enthusiastically shoves the thought out of his mind as he makes his way to the counter.

A lady watches the approach, dark eyes fixed on Han, lips tugged upwards into a polite smile.

“What can I do for you?”

“Uh. Yeah-” Han begins, and immediately ends when the lady’s eyes suddenly narrow, smile abruptly transforming into a scowl. 

“Luke!” She calls, before Han can say another word, “The fuckboy’s here!”

Han has the decency to look somewhat offended but it only lasts until the kid - Luke - peeks his head out of the backroom, grinning ear to ear. In the short time Luke had been in the kitchen, the smudge of flour across his nose has spread across his cheeks. The flour caught in his hair falls like snow with each movement Luke makes.

“You can wait in here until we close!” Luke tells him, stepping into the front room and rubbing his hands on the front of his apron. “If you don’t mind Leia’s company.”

“If he buys something, you mean,” Leia says. Directed at her brother, the words lack the bite Han had heard earlier and Luke simply rolls his eyes at Leia.

“Don’t worry about her. We’re closing soon anyway, so it’s no bother,” Luke says. “But if you do decide to buy something, I suggest the Brioche Praline Rose.” He catches his sister’s warning eye and throws his hands up in surrender, “yeah, yeah. I’m cleaning!”

He disappears once more, leaving Han alone with the terrifying woman that Luke calls “sister”. She’s staring at him, her eyes narrowed on him in a glare and then leans against the counter, her chin resting comfortably on her neatly folded fingers.

“So what’ll it be, fuckboy?” She asks, in a tone that leaves no room for argument. Han blanks and then withdraws his wallet from his back pocket. He manages to mumble, ever so eloquently,

“One of whatever he said, I guess.”

Leia regards him silently for a moment, and he can see the faintest hint of a smirk before she turns, reaching for a glossy blue box with ‘Skywalker’s Sweets’ embossed on the top.

A suspiciously _big_ blue box.

He watches, eyes narrowed as Leia moves towards the display case. It almost happens in slow motion, he thinks, when Leia completely bypasses the smaller, already cut up squares of breads, cakes, and pastries, and stops only when she reaches the baked goods Han is _sure_ was only for display.

Leia doesn’t even bother hiding her grin, setting the box down as she reaches in and pulls out an undeniably full-sized Brioche-whatever. She raises a brow, practically daring him to speak up.

“Alright?” She asks, amusement clearly radiating from her in waves.

Han wavers for only a moment, mouth falling open, before he takes a deep breath and sets his jaw, determined.

“Alright.”

It takes only a minute for Leia to box it up and punch the keys in the cash register before she looks up at him with a sweet smile and announces, “That’ll be thirty dollars, please.”

Han hands over the money with a glare, and Leia tucks it into the register before handing him the box.

“Thank you for your purchase!” She says, voice dripping with cheer. Then, as Han turns away to find the corner furthest away from her, she mutters, “Fuckboy.”

Scowling, Han glances at his watch, cursing internally.

It was going to be a _long_ hour.

* * *

When Luke finally emerges from the back, Han and Leia are engaged in what can only be described as a staring contest - although Han refuses to believe he’d ever allow himself to be dragged into one.

“All done!” Luke declares, two pairs of eyes immediately drawn to him. 

Han swallows a groan. The kid was obviously dressed to leave - the apron was gone, a loose knit sweater and jeans in it's place. Everything was in order, or would be- if there hadn’t still been _flour_ smeared over his nose.

He hugs his sister goodbye, to which she rolls her eyes in response. Judging by the smile on her lips though, she does so fondly. But the moment Luke has turned his back to walk towards Han, Leia is glaring at him over her brother’s shoulder. He wishes he could make some snappy remark but he’s just as quickly distracted when Luke places a hand casually on his arm.

His mind shorts for a minute and when he lowers his gaze to meet Luke’s eyes the kid grins widely. “Shall we go? It shouldn't take too long if we get started right away.”

Han can only nod in response. Luke leads him out of the door. It chimes behind them, the sound cutting off as it clicks shut. “Aren’t you guys still open for another two hours?” Han asks, when he catches sight of the sign with the store’s hours on it. Printed neatly in black lettering, it clearly says the store will be open until 5 o’clock.

“Well, the kitchen is closed for the evening,” Luke says and Han turns to find him already at the front of the _Falcon_ , propping the hood open. Han resists the urge to tell Luke to get his hands off of his _baby_ but the kid _is_ helping him so he instead moves to drop the blue box into the front passenger seat through the open window. Immediately after, he moves to examine what Luke is doing under the hood.

Nothing prepares him for the sight of Luke leaning down to peek into the engine. Han’s mouth goes dry as he is unable to pull his eyes away from Luke’s ass. Obliviously, Luke continues on, “I open the shop every morning - get the baking started and stuff - and Leia closes it.”

“Oh,” Han somehow manages to mutter, tearing his eyes away just in time for Luke to look over and meet his gaze. The smile is still securely in place, the flour still powdered on his nose.

“Do you have any tools?” Luke asks and for a moment, Han doesn’t process the question but then stumbles to retrieve the tool kit from the trunk of the _Falcon_. He drops it at Luke’s feet, popping it open. The tools contained are more of Chewbacca’s area of expertise but he can at least identify them when Luke asks him for one.

Han hangs back as Luke rolls his sleeves up and leans over the engine again, tool in hand. Not for any particular reason, he assures himself, as his eyes roam almost hungrily over the lithe frame.

The body shifts, and Han jerks his gaze away once again, cursing as his cheeks begin to heat up.

“Hey,” Luke calls, looking over his shoulder, abruptly tempting lips curved into a small grin, “You gonna get over here?”

“Huh? Oh, yeah okay,” Han manages, feeling exceedingly foolish as he steps up beside the kid.

Luke reaches forward into the engine, and it’s a brief flash of contact, the brush of warmth from skin against skin that robs Han of his breath. He struggles not to react, to fight the shiver that runs up his spine, the sudden, burning heat in his gut, and focuses instead on Luke’s soft words.

“I’m Luke Skywalker, by the way,” he’s saying, “I don’t think I got your name?”

With a small shake of his head, Han swallows and pushes out a weak, “Han Solo.”

“Han,” the kid repeats, head tilting, unfairly cute, before continuing, “I thought you might want to see. I’m just gonna-”

Han wishes he could say that he’s listening intently to every word. He does, when he realises how good he is at lying to himself. He nods at every appropriate moment, humming in assent as Luke taps on an engine part questioningly, and makes sure their hands brush every time Luke requests a new tool.

“Got it?” Luke asks eventually, far too soon.

Considering how all Han remembers are the brief flashes of skin as Luke stretches, the sight of nimble fingers curling around the tools Han hands to him, and the gentle rise and fall of Luke’s voice, he thinks he can safely say that no, he didn’t get any of that. 

“Yeah, I got it,” he says instead, a moment passing before he adds belatedly, “Thanks.”

Luke smiles brightly at him and Han’s fingers twitch, urging him to brush away the stubborn flour clinging to the pale skin of Luke’s nose.

 _Quit it,_ he growls to himself, clenching his hands into loose fists, nails digging into the skin of his palm. He wonders, briefly, if Luke has any idea what he’s doing to him but then decides it can’t be possible. He’s too genuinely innocent.

He watches as Luke rubs his hands casually on his jeans, which were, at least, a little ratty before becoming smeared with oil, and offers one to Han. Han takes it after a moment, letting the warmth of Luke’s hand - surprisingly firm, calloused from hard work, and yet gentle all the same - seep into his own.

“It was nice to meet you, Han,” Luke says, dropping Han’s hand. Han ignores the way he immediately misses the contact and the way his stomach flops at Luke’s words. To distract himself, he climbs into his car and jams his key into the ignition. The _Falcon_ rumbles to life and although it sounds no different than usual - perhaps even better - Han makes a note to ask Chewbacca to take a look at it when he gets back. “Maybe I’ll see you around?”

“Maybe,” he responds gruffly and has to bite his tongue to keep from saying something he might regret if he ever sees Luke again. Especially if he’s going to see Luke again, which he’s certainly planning on. The last thing he wants is the kid thinking he’s a giant pervert. “Thanks again, kid. I owe you one.”

With a nod, Han backs out of the parking lot, anticipation thrumming under his skin. Luke is waving at him, and Han hesitates for only a moment, then throws the kid a rakish wink just before he speeds off. A strange thrill bubbles up inside him, and he throws back his head and laughs, long and happy.

* * *

Han’s stops at the bakery become a regular occurrence over the next few weeks. Armed with the knowledge of the bakery’s schedule, Han is careful to avoid going in at anytime where he may have to deal with Luke’s witch of a sister, Leia. She seems to take a certain pleasure in watching him squirm.

There are days that his deliveries get in the way and he is forced to drop by later than usual. Leia is always at the counter when he comes at these times and Luke is already buried away in his kitchen. Occasionally he is able to catch Luke for a chat but he is usually sent scurrying from the bakery by Leia before he gets a chance.

Leia does not bother hide that she knows what he’s up to. While the sweets are rather delicious - after the first dessert, this comes as no surprise - he does not make a habit of dropping by the bakery for copious amounts of baked goods. No, he’s here for one reason, and Leia knows it.

Leia isn’t the only one onto him either. Chewbacca caught on when the fridge began to fill with pastries so quickly that neither of them could keep up with the consumption of them. He pointed this out to Han, who seemed rather unfazed.

“Listen, Chewie,” he says, “this is for a very good cause.”

Chewbacca’s only response is to roll his eyes and shake his head, grumbling under his breath about lovesick children.

Luke calls him over excitedly one day, flour smudged on his nose yet again, as the chime announces Han’s presence. Han huffs out a laugh as he strides over to the counter, lips curving into what he’s sure is a stupidly fond grin.

“What’s the matter, kid?”

“I was trying out a new recipe last night!” Luke says, practically bouncing on his heels, flushed and happy, and Han wonders for a moment how that would feel in his arms, “I think you’ll like it.”

Luke presents a small box with a flourish, and Han swallows, tamping down harshly on a rising blush and reaches for his wallet.

“Ah, no, don’t!” Luke cries out, quickly clutching the box to his chest and shaking his head, “It’s kind of still an experiment - so think of it as a favour to me and just take it, please?"

Han dares _anyone_ to try and refuse Luke when he looks up at them with those shining, earnest blue eyes of his, and not feel like an utter asshole. So, with a smile and a, “Thanks, kid,” he accepts the box.

“Let me know how you find it,” Luke says, leaning forward, elbows resting on the countertop, “Will you be coming in again tomorrow?”

It’s not exactly a question - Han hasn’t missed a single day in the last few weeks, and, busy or not, he’s not ever planning to, but-

“I might be a little later. Work, y’know.”

“Ah,” Luke nods, then tilts his head and looks at Han, curious, “What do you do?”

Han freezes, sharp pricks of alarm coursing through his body. A litany of curses dance mockingly in his head as he screams at himself to _calm down._

“Deliveries,” he manages after a moment. He's lied the same lie a hundred times before. Now is no different.“Just... pick ups and deliveries. Nothing special.”

Luke’s eyes narrow a fraction, and Han swallows nervously, desperately keeping his gaze open and guileless.

“Do you like it?” Luke asks eventually, and Han allows himself to relax imperceptibly, letting out a small sigh.

“It’s a job,” Han replies, running still-shaky fingers through his hair, Luke’s gift a sudden heavy weight in his other hand, “Never really thought about anything past that.”

Luke hums in response, stare suddenly piercing.

“Maybe you should.”

Han looks away.

“Maybe I should.”

He spends the night with his eyes fixed on the small box, lump in his throat refusing to go away.

He doesn’t go to the bakery the next day.

* * *

“I’m not sulking,” he says to Chewie. 

Chewie only stares at him, unimpressed.

“I’m not!” Han insists, voice muffled as he burrows further into the ratty couch.

It’s stupid - Chewie was the first to say so, and Han agrees, but the mere thought of going in, facing Luke with the weight of the last delivery still etched into Han’s hands - it’s too much, and for the first time in a long time... he feels ashamed.

Han curses and shakes his head, screwing his eyes shut.

He isn’t like this. Han _isn’t like this_ \- he knows what he has to do, and he does it, no questions asked, no guilt felt or acknowledged. He’s never this unsure, and he almost hates Luke for screwing with his mind.

Almost.

Until he remembers bright grins, happy laughs, warmth at his side. Until he remembers the sparkle in light blue eyes, the dumb aprons the kid favours, and the quick, deft movements of confident hands. Until he remembers the damned flour always smeared on Luke’s nose.

“I don’t love him,” he says, Chewie looking up from the book he’d deemed more interesting than Han ages ago.

Chewie hums, slightly questioning.

“I don’t,” Han confirms, then, with a groan, covers his face with his arms, “Fuck, but I’m going to, aren’t I? I’m fucking going to.”

Chewie just gives him a look and returns to his book.

* * *

He does end up going back to the bakery the next day, deciding he’s sulked for long enough, and despite arriving at the crack of dawn, Leia is already behind the front counter. While her showing up early is hardly a surprise, he is taken aback by the apron she has tied around her waist. Painted with little cartoon crowns, it is clearly one of Luke’s collection - or perhaps a gift from Luke? He certainly can’t imagine her purchasing something like that herself. 

“G’morning,” he greets lazily, his eyes roaming the display for today’s treat. The strudels look incredible but he has already amassed a collection of them and had promised Chewie he would pick up something different. Perhaps the cinnamon coffee cake?

Over the past few weeks, Leia has somewhat warmed up to him. Or, he imagines that she has, since her nickname for him has graduated from her bitter ‘fuckboy’ to more of a casual and almost playfully teasing ‘nerfherder’. She’s barely glared at him as well, so it takes him by surprise when she looks up from carefully stocking the display case and narrows her eyes at him.

He holds his arms up in mock surrender, grinning ear to ear. “No need for that look, I’m just here for my usual,” he says with an impish grin. She rolls her eyes in response, reaching for a damp rag and using it to rub the sticky sugars from her fingers. He takes advantage of her distraction, sliding to the left to peer at the sweets behind the glass. When he thinks she’s not looking he peers into the kitchen, hoping to catch Luke’s eye.

He wasn’t as sneaky as he believed himself to be.

“Luke’s not here today,” she tells him immediately, more snappish than he has heard in quite a while. He ignores the way disappointment rushes over him at the words and immediately after, the guilt. He doesn’t know why he feels so guilty, though. It’s not as though it’s his fault the kid took a day off... right? “So you don’t have to hang around or buy something.”

Han has to resist the urge to scoff indignantly. He knows it’s the truth, that he only comes here each day for Luke, but that doesn't make it any easier to admit to himself or her. So instead, he ignores her in favour of scanning the display once more as if he hasn’t memorized the selection of pastries.

“The coffeecake,” he decides outloud, if only to refuse giving her the satisfaction. He smirks as she scowls in response and pulls out a small blue paper bag. It crinkles loudly in the otherwise silent shop as she slides a single slice of coffeecake into it. Then she’s pushing it across the counter. As he’s paying for it, he can’t help but ask, “Is Luke-?”

“Gay? Single? Completely and entirely off limits?” Leia snaps before he has the chance to finish. “Yes, to all of the above, Nerfherder.”

“Off limits, you say?” Han smirks in response. They weren’t the questions Han wanted to ask but he couldn’t deny that they had been on his mind for more than a while now. And now she offered them to him, without him having to spare the effort of luring the answers out. It was really too easy. “I was going to ask if Luke was alright, but thanks.”

He grabs the paper bag from the counter and is out the door before she could get another word in edgewise. The familiar chime echos behind him and he catches a glance of her horrified look before hopping into the _Falcon._

* * *

The next day, he swaggers into the building confidently. Leia is nowhere to be seen, thankfully, and Luke is quick to respond to the chime. It’s barely quarter after seven in the morning and Luke’s nose is already smeared with flour when he peeks around the corner. His face breaks out into a brilliant smile as he makes his way from the kitchen towards the counter.

“Han!” He greets cheerily, dusting his hands off on his apron - dancing bagels printed on it this time, Han notes, “You came!” 

Han tears his eyes away from the strangely hypnotizing apron and grins, leaning forward, hands planted on the counter.

“Hell, Luke,” he drawls, “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you actually missed me.”

Luke lets out a surprised laugh, before crossing his arms and tilting his head back, looking Han up and down.

“Maybe. Or I just really wanted to know how much you liked my new creation.”

Han shifts his gaze up to the ceiling, humming in exaggerated consideration, “It was good. One thing you could have added to make it better, though.”

Han knows what's going to happen - he's practiced the line countless times since Leia had helpfully volunteered the information he'd desperately needed. He'd run through all conceivable scenarios and concluded that there were only two possible ways this could end - in heartbreak, or, well, not in heartbreak.

What he'd never expected - and, stupid of him, really, he knows how much Luke prides himself on his baking - was Luke's face falling abruptly, eyes widening in consternation.

"You hated it," Luke says before Han can continue, burying his face in his hands, "God, I'm so sorry, Han."

"What? No-"

"I should've practiced more- I don't know why I thought-"

Han can only watch, frozen, as Luke begins to babble, face painfully red. He screams at himself to _say something, damn it,_ and works his throat, heartbeat urgent in his chest.

“Your number!”

Luke falls abruptly silent, and a moment passes, Han’s terrified gaze locked on Luke’s.

“I meant,” he starts again, words falling far too easily from his lips when Luke fails to respond, “Your number would have made it better. It was... a line- a fucking stupid line, shit-”

He has a litany of curses already lined up to perfectly describe how much of an idiot he was - until he sees Luke’s lips quirk up into a smile.

A smile that almost immediately turns into helpless laughter, Luke doubled over, fingers clutching at the edge of the counter.

Han blinks, unsure of how he should react. He chuckles nervously, feeling absurdly like he’s waiting for a sentence to be passed as he watches for any sign of Luke’s usual calm. He wonders if he’s ever going to be able to show his face in the bakery again. It would be a right shame if he couldn’t - he was growing fond of the sweet pastries.

“Oh, Han,” Luke eventually says, humour bubbling in his tone as he rubs at his eyes, flour clinging stubbornly to his skin. Han prepares himself to be cast out of the bakery but is instead pleasantly surprised when Luke leans across the counter. Luke is closer to him than he has been since his visits started and Han notices how long Luke’s eyelashes are and - is that flour stuck in his eyelashes? Of course it is. “My number, you say? See that’ll cost you a bit extra.”

Han is sure his face has exploded in flames but he’s determined to play the cool guy that he definitely is, so he pulls back with a grin. He notes the cute pout on Luke’s lips and he’s never been more grateful for his car’s tendency to break down at the worst time. “How about dinner instead?” Han asks boldly. “How about 5 o’clock?”

Luke looks up at him from beneath those damn long lashes and smirks. Gathering a scrap piece of paper and the pen Leia keeps next to the register, he scrawls down his number and slides it across the counter towards Han. Han reaches forward and his fingers briefly brush against Luke’s until the man withdraws his hand.

“Make it 6 o’clock and I think I can make it,” Luke agrees after his moment and Han grips the paper protectively. “I owe Leia for covering me yesterday, so I’m stuck here until closing.”

Han tamps down hard on the giddy laughter that bubbles up in his chest, but can do nothing about the wide, silly grin he’s almost certain is permanently fixed on his face.

“6 o’clock,” he repeats, and at Luke’s amused nod, the nervous lump in his throat finally dissipates. A deep breath, before forcing nonchalance, “I guess I’ll see you then.”

“See you, Han,” Luke replies, raising a hand in a small wave as Han begins to back away, unwilling to tear his gaze away for even a second. He reaches behind him, fingers brushing against the cool metal of the door knob before he grips it firmly.

He hesitates for a second before he mutters, again, “See you,” and pulls open the door, ducking out of the bakery, Luke’s laugh a sweeter chime behind him.

It’s all Han can do to not text Luke the moment he’s left the bakery. It’s not as though Luke would text back, anyways. The image of Luke flitting around the kitchen, collecting more and more flour with each chore comes to mind as he climbs into his car and he immediately drops his forehead against the wheel. With equal amount of excitement and utter defeat in his voice, he mutters, “You’ve got it so bad, Han.”

He doesn’t have much time to dwell on it though, because he himself has a few jobs he needs to get done and he needs to get started on it if he wants to be done in time for his date.

His _date_. With _Luke Skywalker_.

He vehemently denies the fact that the idea itself keeps his goofy smile in place for the next six hours.

* * *

He eventually gives in and texts Luke after his deliveries are done for the day, asking where he’ll be picking the kid up. Han ignores the way his stomach flops happily when Luke responds in a few moments with an address and instead climbs into the shower after sending a quick, flirtatious reply.

He spends the rest of the afternoon flirting with him too, disregarding Chewie’s knowing looks as he spends maybe a little too much time preparing for his date.

He arrives at the address Luke gave him ten minutes early. It’s a small, quaint row house with blue siding a few shades lighter than the bakery’s own color scheme. There’s a small patch of dying grass that can hardly be considered a lawn and is divided by a stone path which leads to a set of stairs.

It’s all very Luke, Han thinks as he makes his way up the stairs. He pauses before the door, a dark wood that complements the light sliding and white accents. He hasn’t even been inside and it feels cozy and welcoming. Just like Luke.

He raises his hand to knock. The door swings open before his hand makes contact with it and he finds himself face to face with one Luke Skywalker. The kid’s hair is damp, as if he had just stepped out of the shower mere moments before. He’s wearing nothing more than a pair of dark, snug jeans and Han finds he can't tear his eyes away. He certainly doesn't want to, either.

His hands twitch, eyes fixed on the vast expanse of skin on display, eager to touch - to feel the warmth of firm muscle against his fingertips. He’s vaguely aware of his own parted lips and widened eyes, a distant part of himself urging him to _get a grip, damn it!_

He swallows, licks his lips and looks up, straight into Luke’s amused gaze. Han’s eyes flutter shut for a moment and he scrambles for the self-control he seems to lose in Luke’s presence.

“Hey,” he manages eventually, “You look amazing, Luke. Ready to go?”

Luke frowns in confusion for only a moment, before his head is thrown back in a delighted laugh. Han’s hands clench into fists, yearning to trace the line of Luke’s neck with his lips, his tongue. He’s forced to watch as a drop of water does what he cannot, running gently down tempting skin.

Han rips his gaze away from the cruel drop as Luke steps back, still smiling.

“Very funny, Han,” he says, shaking his head, “I’ll just be a minute, if you wanted to come in and wait.”

Luke turns away, heading back inside, stretching up to run a hand through dark, damp hair, leaving Han to stare, once again, agape at the soft play of muscle from the movement.

“Fuck,” he whispers aloud before trailing after Luke.

His eyes are still fixed on Luke and holy shit - is that a tattoo? 

There's a flash of color, peeking out from beneath Luke's jeans and crawling up his back. Before Han can get a good, proper look at it, Luke disappears into what Han is almost certain is his bedroom. 

 

_Luke’s bedroom._

Han calls a complete halt to his thoughts right there, tearing his gaze away from the beckoning room.

He lets out a groan and allows nails to dig into palms for just a moment, sharp pain clearing his mind, before he looks up and focuses, perhaps with more intensity than is necessary, on his surroundings.

The room- the living room strikes Han immediately as more of a set out of a magazine, pristine and sterile, save for a sweater slung carelessly over the sofa. So unlike the warmth he’d felt at the door.

He can see, though - see the spaces he’d fill, can hear the echoes he’d replace.

He shakes his head, lips curling into a wry smile. Too much, too soon. _Settle down, nerfherder,_ something that sounds far too much like Leia for comfort tells him, _you don’t even know if you’re going to get past the first date._

 _Yeah,_ he scowls, _you’d like that, wouldn’t you, you-_

“I’m done!”

Luke hurries out of the room, patting down the creases in his shirt, grinning brightly.

“Shall we go?”

Han can only smile, helplessly charmed.

“Yeah. Yeah, we can go.”

They head out of the house together, shoulders brushing as Luke stops to lock the door behind them.

“Can you hold this?” Luke asks, handing Han a small, neatly wrapped parcel before Han has the chance to say anything. It’s fairly light, and still warm in his hands.

“What is it?” Han asks as Luke tests the door to ensure it’s locked and proceeds to slip his keys into his pocket.

“Dessert,” Luke says with a little grin and a sparkle in his eyes.

 _Well,_ Han thinks, _that explains the flour._ It’s probably eternally there, freshly showered or not.

“So, do you know where we’re going?” Luke asks, curious lilt in his voice.

Han hums distractedly, throat tightening and stomach fluttering with sudden anxiety as the lock clicks.

“Great!” He hears, even as his mind races, drowning himself in both words of encouragement and excuses he could give to _get the hell out of there._

A hand suddenly appears in his vision, and all his thoughts are silenced.

He looks up into shining, understanding, pale blue eyes.

“Ready?”

Han lets out a breath. He takes Luke’s hand in his. He smiles.

“Ready."

The restaurant is one that Han would ordinarily never step foot into but damn it if he makes anything less than the best impression for the first date.

That’s not to say the place is high class, really. It’s a small, locally owned restaurant that is warm and welcoming. It’s one of the one’s Chewie suggested (which Han has pretended to pointedly ignore while fixing his hair for the fourth time) and, like always, Chewie has hit the nail on the head. Luke’s eyes have lit up as he appraises the homely interior.

Han wonders how one person could be so unbelievably adorable.

They are guided to a booth in the back of the restaurant by a young, dark haired waitress who hands them the menu’s with a huge smile. Her eyes linger perhaps a little too long on Luke as she introduces herself and lists off the specials, an annoyingly flirtatious tone in her voice, and only spares a glance at Han before sashaying her way to the front.

Han’s eyes follow her retreating form, unable to hide the small scowl on his lips. When he turns back to his company, Luke is staring openly at him.

“Like what you see?” Han asks, his scowl turning into a teasing grin, and Luke jumps slightly.

“Ah, sorry, I mean-,” he stumbles, and Han’s grin grows. His face has turned rather red as he ducks his head behind his menu in a poor attempt to hide his blush. “What do you usually get?”

Han glances at the menu. Never having had been here before, he doesn’t exactly have a ‘usual’. Instead he lists off the first thing that catches his eyes. It’s something with mushrooms and pasta, and Han watches as Luke’s nose scrunches in obvious distaste, before quickly being schooled into a polite expression he certainly didn’t learn from Leia.  

A lock of hair falls out of place, and Han’s lips tug up into a smirk as he reaches forward. Embarrassed blue eyes flicker, skittering to the side for a moment before fixing on Han. The red dusted on Luke’s cheeks deepens as Han brushes the stray lock away, thumb running briefly across cheekbone in a gentle caress before he pulls back.

Luke lets out a soft huff of laughter, shaking his head slightly before turning his attention pointedly back to the menu. Han leans back in his seat, making no attempt to stop the happy grin he cannot hope to conceal.

“So, when’d you decide to open shop with your sister?” Han asks. “It can’t be easy to be stuck with her all the time.”

He wonders, briefly, if Luke would be insulted in his sister’s defense, but Luke just laughs. “She’s not that bad, really,” Luke insists with that damn brilliant smile. “She’s just a little headstrong. And protective.”

As if Han couldn’t tell. He wondered if he should bring up his and Leia’s conversation from the other day, but decides against it as Luke continues. “And the bakery... Well, it wasn’t so much my choice. Not that I don’t love it, of course, it’s just that it’s the family business. My grandmother opened it years ago when she first came to Coruscant. My father was just a child - it was almost fifty years ago now.”

Han let out a low, impressed whistle. “And you’ve never wanted to do something else?”

“I grew up in that bakery,” Luke says and a soft, reminiscent smile plays on his lips. In that moment, Han imagines Luke with anything but flour on his nose - a speck of paint, a smear of car grease, or perhaps nothing at all - and immediately decides he couldn’t see it. “It’s important to me and my family and I can’t really see myself doing anything else.”

A muted _click_ sounds, and Han turns to see the waitress stop beside them, notepad clutched in her hands. Gaze darting between the two of them, she offers Han a wry, almost challenging smile before straightening, demeanor abruptly perfectly professional.

“Ready to order, sir?”

Feeling particularly victorious, Han leans back as Luke turns a polite smile to the waitress.

“The special, please,” Luke asks after a moment, and the waitress jots it down with a little smile that disappears as soon as she turns to face Han.

He orders the food he had suggested to Luke, deciding it didn’t look too bad and she jots it down alongside Luke’s order.

“That’ll be out shortly,” she says, her attention fully on Luke once more. Her eyelashes flutter flirtatiously before she turns and practically skips away. Luke is oblivious, or maybe Han is just reading too much into it. Either way, Luke turns his full attention back on Han as soon as she disappears.

“You didn’t seem too enthusiastic about your job last time we talked about it,” he points out and Han wonders if this conversation is about to take a turn for the worse. “So you probably don’t like it too much, huh? So what do you want to do?”

Han has never really considered what he _wanted_ to do. It just wasn’t in the cards. He did what he had to to scrape by and that was that. That was life.

So- what _did_ he want to do?

His gaze flickers to the side, scrabbling for something, anything to say. A sudden flash of an old childhood drawing darts through his mind and he blurts out, “Pilot. I want- well, I wanted to be a pilot.”

Luke straightens, lips pulled into a delighted grin.

“A pilot!” He exclaims, sounding far too excited.

“Never did any training for it or anything,” Han hastens to clarify, eyes fixed on the dark, glossy surface of the table, “just... really liked the idea of it, is all.”

He dares to glance up, and is caught by Luke’s softened gaze.

“Han,” Luke murmurs, “It’s never too late.”

And for a moment, he wishes, so strongly, a lump catches in his throat. Wishes that he could believe Luke knew what he was talking about, knew everything about Han’s past, Han’s present, knew everything Han was still desperately trying to hide- knew all of that, and would still choose to say those words.

_It’s never too late._

He forces himself to smile, feeling vaguely sick.

“Yeah,” he pushes out, taking in a sharp breath, before releasing with a sigh, “Yeah.”

If Luke notices anything out of the ordinary, he doesn’t show it. Only leans back in his seat, same small smile on his lips.

They sit in silence, Han not knowing what to say, and Luke seemingly in no hurry to pick up the conversation.

For the first time tonight, Han is actually _relieved_ to see the return of the waitress, and magnanimously ignores the hopeful glances directed at _his_ date.

“So,” Han decides to say, spurred on by Luke’s smile as he receives his meal, “You bake a lot, then?”

He’s about to berate himself for picking the _stupidest_ thing he could possibly have said, when Luke brightens, waitress abruptly forgotten.

 _Seems I’ve hit the jackpot,_ Han muses, amused as Luke begins to talk, hands flying every which way, a flush dusting his cheeks, the smear of flour all the more noticeable.

Time passes quickly - almost far too quickly, Han would say, watching Luke’s easy laughter and shining eyes, if not for the dessert waiting in the car, and the blanket he’d readied for the second half of the date.

Han snatches the tab when the waitress drops it off before Luke could even reach for it. It was adorable to watch Luke’s face fall into a pout as Han shoves enough crumpled credits into the folder to more than cover the bill and tip.

“Han, I can-!” Luke insists but Han just grins in response and snaps the folder shut.

“Don’t even think about it, kid,” he insists, watching as Luke flushes. He carefully places the folder on the table before rising his feet. Luke stands with him, looking almost guiltily at the bill, but Han is leading him out of the restaurant, hand in hand, before he could try anything. He only smiles sweetly in response when Luke scowled halfheartedly.

Han finds himself utterly delighted when he catches the waitresses eyes. She’s staring at their intertwined fingers, a look of horror on her face. He even goes so far as to make a show of holding the door for Luke to climb in. He swears he sees Luke roll his eyes, but there’s a little grin playing on Luke’s lips so he doesn’t think too much of it. He winks at the horrified waitress on his way out and lets the door shut behind him.

Outside, it is already dark, which is exactly what Han had been hoping for. The street is illuminated by dimly lit street lamps and even in the city, the sky seems clear and a few stars are visible.

They fall into comfortable silence as Han starts the car and begins to drive. It’s broken only a few times when Luke asks Han a question, always about his past or his life or his hobbies. It was endearing, really, but Han seemed to find himself flustered with each question. He had never thought too much about his future and dwelling on the past was pointless for Han. But here was Luke, who looked into the future with enthusiasm and the past with fondness.... And it was truly contagious.

“Who’s your best friend?” Luke asks first. He’s gazing out the window, watching the groups of people on the sidewalk.

“Chewie,” Han answers without hesitation. After all, the man had been a huge part of his life for years now. No other names jump to mind so easily. “You?” Luke shrugs in response and it’s hard to see the kid lacking a best friend with his seemingly endless charisma. “Really?”

“Leia, if I’m honest.” He doesn’t seem embarrassed that his sister is his best friend, but that’s the benefits of a close family. “Do you have a big family?” There’s a family crossing the street in front of them, a small child resting on the father’s shoulders, another holding his hand, and a child cradled in the mother’s arms.

“Huge.” Not a lie, even if they weren’t related by blood.

“It’s just my parents, Leia and I,” Luke says in response to the question Han didn’t have time to ask, “Did you grow up in Coruscant?”

“Corellia, actually.”

The questions go on. Luke never asks where they’re going, even as the city fades behind them and they become surrounded by the thick forests that surround the city. He does turn his eyes away from the trees and turns to look questioningly at Han when the man takes a sudden turn down unused road.

“You’ll see. It’s worth it,” Han promises. He hadn’t discovered the road doing anything that was remotely legal, but it had become one of his favourite places when he needed to escape the city for a few hours. And now he was going to share it with Luke.

The _Falcon_ ’s engine cried as she struggled up the hill but she reaches the top after spitting out only a few worrisome noises.

When they shudder to a stop, Luke looks to Han.

“You sure we’re going to be able to get back?”

Scoffing, Han turns to grab the blanket from the backseat, “‘Course we are! I’ve been fixing her up for ages!”

At Luke’s raised brow, Han amends, “And you’re not so bad yourself - we’ll be fine, kid.”

With that, Han lets himself out of the _Falcon_ , the solid dual _thumps_ of the closing car doors echoing seconds later in the still, quiet night. Luke steps up beside him, his sharp inhale dangerously close to Han’s ear.

Han glances almost nervously at Luke, disconcerted by the silence.

“So, what d’you think?” He asks eventually, voice hushed in deference to the peacefulness that seemed to emanate from the night sky.

Luke smiles, eyes shining with wonder. Han barely holds back a sigh of relief and begins shaking out the blanket in his hands.

“It’s incredible, Han- how’d you find this place?”

Han’s movements stutter for only a moment before he’s smoothly laying the blanket on the ground.

“Just drove around,” he mumbles, patting the cloth down, “Come on, Luke, sit down.”

He’s perhaps a little more abrupt than he’d like, but Luke doesn’t seem to mind, already setting the packaged dessert on the cloth and settling down, legs stretched out, hands at his sides, palms flat against the ground.

Luke turns to him with a slight smile and a questioning glance, and Han scrambles to join him.

The view hadn’t changed once since he’d first discovered this place. The stars still distant, bright things, the ever present fine mist still blanketing the area, the city lights far enough to seem like a world away.

His eyes slip shut for a moment, and he breathes.

Breathes in the sharp scent of earth, and grass, and- cinnamon?

He opens his eyes to find a small square of... something before him, held in a hovering hand. He glances, amused, at Luke.

“Try one,” Luke urges, grinning.

He reaches out to pluck it from Luke’s palm, as delicately as it seemed to demand, the small treat sticking lightly to his fingers.

“What is this?” He asks, as he takes the first bite.

“Chocolate Swirl Cinnamon Marshmallows,” Luke replies, eyes intent on Han, “Do you like it?”

“Mmm,” Han mumbles through his mouthful, “S’good, really good.”

He may not be a food connoisseur, able to wax poetic on the blending of flavours and the springiness of the texture, but Luke seems satisfied with his response, shifting to lay down on the blanket, gaze now focused on the dark sky.

Dusting his hands off hurriedly, Han stretches out as well, pillowing his head with an arm, and sighs just as Luke does, the sounds uniting in the quiet night for a moment, before dissipating, Luke’s chuckle replacing the near-silent echoes.

“I didn’t know there was a place here where you could see the stars so well,” Luke comments after a few moments. Han shifts to look at the baker. The kid is staring at the stars with a twinkle in his eyes that is brighter than anything that could be found in the sky. Han finds himself memorizing each curve of Luke’s face, his long lashes that flutter as he stares in wonder, the way the moon illuminates the curve of his smiling lips... Han’s throat goes dry. Luke continues, oblivious, “When I was a kid, my mother would take us to Naboo every summer. We would stare at the stars every night.”

Han knows how he feels. He often thinks back to the nights of his childhood in Corellia. The sky was always full of stars there. He never knew how much he took it for granted until he ended up Coruscant. “I was hoping you would enjoy it.”

“I do... Thank you.”

They fall into comfortable silence once more but Han is unable to tear his eyes away from Luke. He’s not even able to be embarrassed when Luke turns and catches his eyes. “Han-?”

“Yeah?”

Whatever Luke was about to say is suddenly forgotten, as a pale blue gaze fixes on the corner of Han’s mouth, Luke’s own lips quirking into a smile.

“You’ve got-”

And he shifts to his side, shuffling in closer, hand outstretched. Han stills, breathless, heart beating loudly- too loudly, surely Luke can hear it - in his chest as a thumb presses gently against the spot, lingering for a touch too long before it begins to retreat.

“You had sugar-” Luke begins to explain.

Han doesn’t listen, _cannot_ listen, as he catches Luke’s hand lightly in his, the heat of Luke’s touch like a brand against his skin.

They hang in a moment of balance - both of them still, silent, wide-eyed, knowing that any movement would tip the scales, until-

“If you could go anywhere,” Luke whispers, gaze dipping down almost shyly, “Where would you go?”

And Han is _lost._

“I don’t know, kid,” he murmurs distractedly as he leans in slowly, carefully, “Right here’s looking pretty good right now.”

And their lips meet, the heady scent of cinnamon and chocolate swirling between them, the soft press of Luke’s lips against his accompanied by a quiet hitching of breath. Han’s eyes flutter shut, giddy laughter bubbling in his chest, and he’s fighting the urge to grin as fingers tangle lightly in his hair, as the soft skin of Luke’s cheek begins to warm under his hand, as they shift closer, _closer,_ gentleness never wavering.

Luke breaks away eventually with a quiet gasp, Han following the movement, reluctant to relinquish the contact between them. He can feel Luke’s laughter- warm, comfortable - tickle his cheek as their foreheads press together.

“I agree,” Luke breathes, after a moment.

Han hums questioningly, tongue darting out over his lips, chasing the taste of Luke’s kiss.

“Right here’s perfect.”

* * *

Han strides into the bakery early the next day. After last night - which had ended _extremely_ well - Han is quite positive that nothing could ruin his mood. Not even a bad delivery or Leia’s sass (which he has admittedly, reluctantly, become quite fond of) could take him down from this drug-free high. 

But it’s not Leia who greets him at the front counter, nor is it Luke.

“Good morning!” The man greets and Han is taken off guard by the new person standing behind the counter. The man appears to be in his late thirties at the most and for a second Han believes he could be Luke’s brother with their resemblance. But Luke _had_ said that it was just him and Leia.

He approaches the counter with growing curiosity. Up close, he can see a small scar that spreads from the man’s forehead, across his eye and down his cheek. It takes nothing away from his features. It only adds to his handsomeness, really. “Morning,” he greets casually, “The usual-,” he remembers this man is new to him and wouldn’t know his usual, “er, I mean-.”

His eyes flicker towards the door that leads to the kitchen. He wonders if Luke is back there or if this guy is running the shop alone today. When he turns back, he’s surprised to see the man’s demeanor had taken a very sudden turn. The man’s eyes have narrowed on him, appraising him in a terrifying way.

“So, you must be Han Solo,” the man says and gone is the friendliness of his greeting, replaced with poison. The man leans forward, his elbows on the counter. His head rests on his intertwined fingers, tilted as he stares thoughtfully at Han. “I’ve heard _so_ much about you.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you want to follow us on tumblr, you can find Shah [here](http://lukegonesolo.tumblr.com) and Sunny [here](http://sunshiningstardust.tumblr.com/)!


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